


After the Freeze, the Thaw

by kinetikatrue



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#37 - Ryan/Spencer - Spencer goes to see Ryan play hockey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Freeze, the Thaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/gifts).



> I suspect this prompt was aiming for fic dealing with canon as it stands, but every time I tried to write that story, I got nowhere. So you get an AU, dear prompter, in which Spencer does go to see Ryan play hockey - and there is fighting involving shirt-pulling. And also some other stuff.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://solarcat.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**solarcat**](http://solarcat.dreamwidth.org/) for encouraging me to take this AU - and to [](http://shihadchick.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://shihadchick.dreamwidth.org/)**shihadchick** for letting me basically write this at her in chat and correcting my hockey-related mistakes.

Spencer is not a hockey fan. He doesn’t hate the sport or anything, but he’s from Las Vegas, which isn’t exactly the ice capital of the world. Or a hotbed of any kind of professional sports action, for that matter - they’ve got minor league baseball in the form of the 51s. And that’s it. So it makes sense that Spencer’s a baseball fan (his parents took him and his sisters to 51s games back when he was a kid), but hockey? Not so much.

He’s here, at the LA Kings Valley Ice Center, anyway.

Not for an actual professional ice hockey game, of course (his professional sports viewing budget is reserved for tickets to Dodgers games and paying for the premium sports package portion of his cable bill). No, he’s here to watch a rec-league hockey game. Because the brother - or cousin - or possibly BFF - of one of the guys he’s friendly with at work plays for one of the teams. And the last time he talked to his mother she had things to say about Making An Effort. Which, whatever. He has a job and he’s in a band; he’s making more than enough of an effort. But he’s there, anyway, because, well, why not? His sport of choice to watch may be baseball, but he isn’t actually _opposed_ to watching other sports. And it's not like his social life outside of the band is all that exciting.

Not that the hockey game is proving to be all that much more so – mostly it’s giving Spencer time to think. Which is not a thing he particularly feels the need to do more of - particularly not when it’s going to involve his ex-best friend.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing, because, well, he’d noticed, when the teams were filing out onto the ice at the beginning of the game, that the opposing team had a guy with the last name Ross playing for them. And one of the major things Spencer associates with hockey is Ryan. Spencer’s not actually sure why Las Vegas had a youth hockey league – or why Ryan played in it, for that matter. But it did – and he did – and Spencer’s mom took him to the games to cheer Ryan on.

Until puberty hit and Ryan turned into a jumble of uncoordinated arms and legs and decided to turn his talent for falling down a lot to skateboards and asphalt.

And then Ryan’s dad had died and his aunt back in North Carolina had gotten custody of him and he’d been gone, all in the space of a few weeks. They’d both promised to write, but they’d been thirteen and fourteen year old boys – and while not hearing from Ryan had hurt at the time, in retrospect Spencer can see that it was pretty fucking predictable. He hasn’t watched hockey since.

But he’s watching now. And thinking about Ryan, though he doesn’t actually think that it’s Ryan out there. He has no idea what Ryan’s been up to or where he ended up living when he got old enough to choose for himself (though Spencer, even now, would bet against North Carolina). And anyway, Ross is a pretty common last name and it could be _anybody_ under the pads and the jersey and the helmet and Spencer hasn't seen Ryan since they were in middle school.

Not that, from what Spencer can tell, the level of play is all that much better than it was then.

Mostly, Spencer tries to focus on the guy he’s theoretically there to cheer on. But it’s hard to keep track of _anybody_ out there on the ice, the way they skate back and forth and back and forth chasing after the puck (which is even harder to track, in Spencer’s opinion). The only times he really knows for sure what’s going on are when a buzzer goes off when a goal gets scored – or when a fight breaks out. There's not _a lot_ of fighting during the game, but there is some. And Spencer starts paying attention to Ross again because of that – because, well, he's involved in one of them and he's _terrible_.

Like, Spencer gets that almost nobody fights well while trying to balance on narrow metal blades on a piece of ice, but Ross is a flailing, jersey-pulling _mess_ and he and the guy he's fighting just sort of end up spinning around in circles, like little kids trying to make themselves dizzy. The refs don't even really need to pull them apart because they never really manage to _do_ anything to each other. And that just makes Spencer fucking _laugh_.

He says to the guy sitting next to him, “Fuck, some guys just shouldn’t be allowed to fight.”

And the guy laughs and says, “Yeah, they should get, like, pinch fighters!”

And Spencer nods, all _right_? Because, yeah, _exactly_. If Baseball had institutionalized fighting, they’d totally be smart enough to have a pinch fighter rule.

They guy turns back to the game after that, but Spencer continues thinking about the awesome that would be pinch fighters until the next time the goal buzzer goes off – for Ross’s team. That goal ties the score – but it see-saws throughout the rest of the third period. Their guy gets a goal and takes his team up one; then, a few minutes after that, Ross answers with a goal of his own. That ties it up again, but isn't actually enough to get his team the win, because in the final seconds of the period the brother-cousin-BFF’s guys get one last goal. And even though Spencer doesn't really care who wins, honestly (it's not his sport; neither of the teams are _his_ team), he cheers just as loudly as the rest of the guys he's there with when the final buzzer goes off and their guy's team is still up that one necessary point.

Spencer pretty much quits paying attention after that, though. There’s a bunch of standing around talking while they wait for the guys to take showers and change into normal clothes - and he kind of just goes along with the group, not really thinking about anything except the beer they're going to drink once they can round people up and head for a bar. He’s definitely not thinking about Rosses, Ryan or otherwise.

***

Eventually they head out – and wrangle people into cars, because the area near the rink is apparently a wasteland of decent places to drink. They end up at a place a couple miles away, in a strip mall with a massage parlor and a liquor store and a sewing machine repair place. And Spencer doesn’t exactly expect much – in his experience hockey players aren’t inclined to care about the quality of the beer as long as it’s _there_ \- until he gets inside and sees their menu; then he's pretty much sold.

By the time he gets back to the table their group has staked out, he's feeling pretty optimistic about the entire evening.

That feeling holds through his first beer – and his second – he talks shop with one of the other guys from the office over the first and spends the second giving one of the hockey players shit about the dumbness of his sport. When he comes back from going up to the bar for a third beer, though, the hockey player’s been replaced by a different hockey player. And when Spencer sits down and gets a good look at who it is, well, it takes every single bit of his remaining willpower to not just get right back up again.

But that would be rude – and his mother has never once allowed Spencer to be rude to Ryan Ross in public.

And while she may not be here, sitting at the table next to him, ready to glare and smack him upside the head if he so much as puts a foot outside the lines, manners-wise - the training holds. Spencer stays where he’s sitting and prepares to be polite to his ex-best friend. Who’s staring right back at him, looking, in that moment, just as shocked as Spencer feels. Ryan gets his face under control pretty quickly, though the expression he pulls out in place of shocked isn’t exactly enthusiastic – and if some of that is down to whatever is showing on Spencer’s face, well, Spencer is just fine with that.

There’s a wry, half-twist of a smile involved, which goes pretty well with the way Ryan says, “Well, if it isn’t Spencer Smith.”

Spencer says, as evenly as he can manage, “Ryan Ross - what’ve you been up to?” Because, well, that’s what comes next in the generic social script for running into old acquaintances and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be good and fucked right now if he wasn’t clinging to it like a life-preserver. This is not a situation he’s ever imagined being in.

(Well, not this specific iteration of it where Spencer meets Ryan the hockey player at a bar in Los Angeles. He’s played out a million different versions involving random encounters at various locations in Vegas. But that was Vegas; this is LA. Spencer’s not in Kansas any longer.)

Ryan says, in a tone of voice that Spencer thinks he remembers being mocking, despite its blandness, “You want the capsule version, I assume? Well, you know the part about moving to North Carolina - and just in case you were wondering: that sucked. My aunt and cousins were fine. We even lived in, like, a college town. But it was in fucking _North Carolina_ , down near the border with South Carolina, so we might as well have been out in the middle of fucking nowhere. I got as far away as I could as fast as I could, came out here to go to USC and stuck around after I graduated - and then I got back into playing hockey after I got a job and could afford the gear. I’m not the best player out there or anything, obviously – but I like it.”

Ryan’s shoulders take on a bit of a defensive hunch after that, like maybe even the capsule version revealed more than he’d intended to say. And Spencer can sympathize with that, though he’s not going to say so. Just like he isn’t going to say: Vegas sucked even worse without you; he’s not giving Ryan that, yet (nor is he thinking about how his life once again contains yets in relation to Ryan).

Instead he says, as though Ryan had actually asked, “I went to college at University of Colorado – Boulder – chose it for the pot, but stayed for the Environmental Design major. Crystal calls it LEGOs for hippies,” which is his standard line on the subject, in company where it’s okay to mention pot. It seems a bit more intimate and revealing than usual, though, saying it to Ryan – he knows who is Crystal is – so Spencer hurries to add, “And obviously I headed out here after graduation. California’s a natural fit for the field – and I jam with a couple of people a few times a week.”

He’s not sure why he doesn’t just say he has a band, because he does, even though they don’t exactly have people lining up asking them to gig – except, well, and how’s this for drunken revelations: apparently his brain decided somewhere along the line that a band was only a thing he could have with Ryan. It’s been more years since he’s played music with Ryan than they’d been friends in the first place. They’d had instruments of their own for all of six months when Ryan moved. His brain is fucking fired.

Ryan actually looks interested, though, for the first time since they’d discovered they were sitting next to each other. He says, “You still drum.”

Spencer says, “Yes,” because, well, manners.

Ryan persists, “In a band.”

“Yes,” Spencer allows; he’d mostly said as much before.

“You play shows.” And Ryan’s beginning to actually look a bit frustrated that Spencer’s not just spilling everything at his slightest sign of interest - not that anybody who didn’t have an advanced degree in Ryan would be able to tell.

Spencer says, “It’s been known to happen.” Which is also true – as long as you allow for the fact that they’re infrequent and irregular occurrences. He’s ignoring the fact that he can still read Ryan with a frightening degree of accuracy because, well, see: frightening.

Ryan’s quiet for a minute, but then he practically bursts out asking, “ _Where_?” And gives Spencer a look that suggests that he’s catalogued Spencer’s hair and clothing and cross-referenced them against a mental index of LA venues and shows he’s seen in them and come up blank.

Jesus, but Spencer’s suddenly actually having FUN. He’d forgotten what winding Ryan up could be like. He lets Ryan hang for a minute, just because, before saying, “Mostly in San Diego. And a few house parties.”

As soon as he’s said it, he’s rewarded with Ryan saying, “ _Spencer_ ,” in a way that probably wouldn’t convey much to anyone else, but translates as a clear _‘fuck you’_ to him.

He nearly smiles, but sips his neglected beer, instead – and replies, “Yes, Ryan?”

And Ryan actually laughs and says, “You, _asshole_ ,” like he’s actually pretty delighted that Spencer decided to wind him up.

Spencer does smile, then, because much as he’d like to be sometimes, he’s not actually made of stone. But he doesn’t say anything, just spreads his hands in acknowledgement and lets his smile shade into a smirk.

Ryan just gets right on to asking, “So, do I get to know this mysterious band’s name? Or where it might be playing next?”

So Spencer tells him, “There’s a house party coming up in a couple of weeks – and we’re called the Best Liars.”

Ryan obviously gets the reference, says, “Fall Out Boy,” like he’s just aced some pop-punk lyrics quiz.

And then they’re off, talking about music and life and everything in between. Spencer learns that Pete Wentz’s lyrics apparently made the difference between Ryan’s life being completely unbearable and only mostly so when he was in high school. And in return he tells Ryan about how practicing Andy Hurley’s drum solos was one of the only things that got him through senior year. The conversation moves on from there - and at the end of the night, they exchange email addresses and phone numbers. And promise to keep in touch.

***

This time, they do. It maybe helps that they’re over ten years older – and thus have ten years more experience at doing that kind of thing. But Spencer’s still a little shocked when he gets the first text from Ryan. It’s Monday and he’s sitting at his desk, eating a sandwich and going over a new set of project specs in preparation for writing up a proposal draft – and nobody (except Brendon) texts him at work; he’s given them all his speech about professionalism too many times (including Brendon, though it never seems to stick).

He almost doesn’t check the message out of sheer stubbornness, but if it IS Brendon, that’ll just backfire and result in Brendon barraging him with texts until he gets bored or actually needs to do something else. And then it turns out to be Ryan, sending him a picture of an orange-and-white kitten.

Spencer texts back _I’m more of a dog person, dude._ and then _And I prefer to not text at work._ and figures that will be it.

The kitten is pretty cute, though. And it makes a nice break in the monotony of the day. Spencer hates the proposal-writing part of the process – particularly the draft stage, where he’s not even pitching his ideas to the client, just his boss, who always has a million tiny criticisms to offer. And unfortunately is generally right.

Ryan doesn’t text back, though, so Spencer chalks it up as a win for effective communication and hunkers down to see if he can’t get the draft done that day.

When he gets home, he finds his personal email is telling him he has fifty new messages – and when he checks them, he discovers that each and every one is from Ryan and has a single picture attached, all of them featuring the kitten. The first one informs him, _I got her almost two months ago. You’ve been missing out on my Kitten of the Day pictures._ Which, what the actual fuck? When did Ryan become the sort of person who would think up something like Kitten of the Day?

Spencer’s pretty sure he would have noticed if there was any sign of this when they’d met at the bar the other night.

He’s can’t say he’s surprised, though, when he gets another text from Ryan featuring a picture of the kitten the very next day, this time an hour before the end of his work day. Or when it happens again the day after that, when he’s sitting down with his morning coffee and the daily Sudoku. At that point, he gives up trying to get Ryan to stop it – he doesn’t actually need to reply and, anyway, the kitten pictures have begun to grow on him.

In between kitten pictures, they exchange emails, starting with Spencer’s, _Somebody let YOU have a kitten?_ and going on from there, detailing Ryan’s acquisition of the kitten, Spencer’s current lack of dogs (due to his ex getting theirs in the break-up because _she could actually be there for them_ ), selections of past romantic exploits on both sides and Spencer’s dire feelings concerning Jackie’s current boyfriend. By the end of the week, Spencer has a standing invitation to all of Ryan’s games for the rest of the season (one per week) and Spencer has invited him to come jam with his band sometime ( _after they play the house party_ ). He turns up for that week’s game wearing a red-and-blue striped scarf in support – and afterwards they go out for drinks.

The next week is pretty much a repeat of the first, with the addition of ever more frantic band practices the closer they get to the day of the house party.

It’s not all smooth sailing, of course. Spencer is stubborn and Ryan is prickly and easily offended – there are plenty of times when Spencer gets mad and just doesn’t reply or keeps arguing just because he refuses to let go of a point. Or when Ryan lashes out all out of proportion to whatever Spencer said or did to set him off. But Spencer actually has learned a thing or two about effective communication since middle school (having your parents decide to get a divorce while you’re in high school helps that process along quite a bit) and Ryan has at least learned how to apologize when he’s particularly out of line. Neither of them declares game over on the renewed friendship before Ryan can actually hear Spencer play a show.

Spencer counts that as a victory, mostly – he’s not entirely sure he wants to know what Ryan will make of his band.

***

Spencer loves playing the drums. This fact is an unquestioned and unquestionable tenet of his existence. He also loves making music with his band. He is not, however, nearly so fond of audiences. Even forgiving ones, made up entirely of parents and other relatives. Brendon would spend his entire life entertaining people if he had the choice – Spencer’s work schedule and dislike of the stage are what keep them tied to their occasional show or house party routine.

Neither of his band-mates are in the least surprised by his quiet fit of nerves on the night of the party, but Brendon’s the only one who knows exactly why that night’s show is so important.

He gets Spencer outside, pulls out a flask and says, “Drink.”

Spencer takes a pull of whiskey – and then another. And by the time the third has burned its way down his throat he’s maybe actually feeling something akin to functional. He stops at three, though, since he _does_ want to be able to play.

Brendon says, “If he thinks your drumming isn’t good enough, he’s a dick,” fierce and protective of Spencer, like always.

Spencer says, “Yeah, well, he’s Ryan,” agreement and excuse all in one – and then, “And anyway, I’m an asshole, so we go together.”

Brendon laughs at that, says, “Yeah, you are. And you’ve got a show to play, so come on,” and slings an arm around Spencer, drawing him into a one-armed hug.

They walk back into the house like that.

Their stage is one end of a friend-of-a-friend’s huge living room – in the LA scene, it’s not so much six degrees of separation as, like, three, max. Spencer got his kit set up right when they got there, so when they get back in, all he has to do is re-check the tunings and make sure his throne is positioned exactly where he likes it. And wait for Brendon and Greta to quit dicking around with their guitars and keys and mics. He doesn’t look for Ryan; he can’t.

He actually, physically can’t because someone’s broken out some stage lights and they’re doing a pretty great job of blinding Spencer to the view beyond Brendon’s mic stand; it’s entirely possible that he’s never been more grateful to not be able to see something in his life.

Brendon eventually does turn to ask him if he’s ready, though – and then he’s counting them in for the first song and Brendon’s picking up the bass-line and kicking off the first verse. Greta’s keys come in a few bars later and she adds her voice to Brendon’s on the chorus and after that they’re solid. Spencer slips into the groove of playing, though he never quite manages to forget there’s an audience out there. Brendon and Greta trade off who’s playing guitar and bass and keys – and who takes the lead on vocals or sings back-up. They have a couple songs with interludes where all of them play drums, because, well, _they can_. And another couple where Spencer plays an electronic kit in addition to his regular one, because he likes to mix it up.

The audience is totally into it, if the way they clap and whistle and shout is anything to go by. Spencer can’t tell whether there’s anybody dancing – though there should be; they write music that should always get people dancing – but even if there isn’t, they’re still getting a pretty fucking good response for a house party show.

They play twelve of their own songs – all they have ready for public consumption – and round out the evening with a half-dozen covers from a variety of artists. Brendon likes to cover 70s classics and hits by new indie artists, while Greta has a fondness for folk and 60s soul and R&B. Spencer votes for whatever has an interesting drum part. The end result keeps their audiences guessing - and clapping along. It’s a pretty good time.

By the time Spencer brings his sticks down on his cymbals for the final crash of the night, he’s almost forgotten why he was extra-nervous in the first place. But then they’re taking their bows and the stage lights are going out and the ‘house’ lights are coming up. And there’s Ryan, leaning against the back wall, wearing another ridiculous narrow-legged suit. Spencer gets busy taking his kit apart.

He’s too habitually efficient for his own good, though – he gets all the pieces of his kit and its associated gear packed away long before he gets over his nerves. But, then, he’s not entirely certain that his nerves haven’t decided to take up permanent residence. And he gets no reprieve from the rest of his band – Brendon and Greta wave off his help when he offers it, so then he’s left with no choice but to stop by the drinks table and collect some liquid courage and then go find Ryan.

When Spencer gets to Ryan, drink in hand, he’s talking to another tall, skinny guy in a suit, but they break their conversation off when they see him.

And then Ryan actually smiles and says, “Spencer, this is Dan – we dated for a while, but decided we worked better as friends,” so completely matter-of-factly that it actually takes Spencer a moment to realize that most people don’t just up and introduce their exes as such. Not unless the situation requires it, anyway.

Dan says, “He collects us. Z’s around here, somewhere, too. And Alex.”

And Spencer doesn’t even know what to think – who brings a posse of their exes along on …a date. He’s been thinking of this as A Date. Though maybe Ryan has, too. That wouldn’t explain the posse of exes, but it would at least make the introductions make sense. And Spencer is getting really tired of the drunken revelations theme his life has been sporting of late.

Though this one maybe doesn’t count as such, since Spencer’s not sure he even counts as tipsy at this point.

Somehow, Spencer manages to nod and say, “Hey,” and not automatically offer Dan his hand, since hand-shaking doesn’t seem to be in the cards. And holding out your fist for a bump and not getting bumped back is pretty fucking sad.

Then Ryan’s saying, “Yeah, they wandered off to do …something,” and making a vague hand-wavy hand gesture that could probably mean anything from ‘have sex’ to ‘hunt heffalumps’, and then, “And now I’m going to take off with Spence and do the same.”

Dan says, “Cool - I think I saw Nick around,” and then they’re parting ways.

By unspoken accord, Spencer and Ryan decide to head for the doors out to the back yard.

On their way, though, Greta waylays them and tells Ryan, “If you hurt him, I will _end_ you,” which is embarrassing, but also reminds Spencer of how grateful he is that he has the friends he does. Greta may be small, but she’s scrappy – and Ryan really isn’t a fighter, so Greta maybe could actually take him if it came down to it.

Also, it appears that his friends thought this was a date, too. Ryan doesn’t seem to be objecting, though, so it’s possible everyone was on the same page on this one, after all.

And anyway, Ryan’s telling Greta, “Okay,” entirely seriously, like it matters to him that Spencer’s friends believe he’s planning to treat Spencer right.

Greta gives each of them a stern look and then tells them to, “Carry on, my fine fellows,” with a tip of an imaginary top hat.

Greta’s ridiculous and also Spencer’s favorite.

***

Out the back of the house, there are gardens, criss-crossed by stone paths and lit by strands of Christmas lights. Spencer and Ryan walk the paths in silence until they come to a bench by a little pond.

Ryan asks, “Sit with me?”

Spencer nods and takes a seat, the wood of the bench cool through the thin cotton of his trousers. Ryan sits beside him – and together they stare at the pond and the image of the moon reflected upon its surface. They don’t touch.

After a while, though, Spencer finds words bubbling up in him, says, “After you left, I just had Brent - and Trevor. And then Trevor moved away, too. Brendon’s the only new friend I really made during high school – and I only got him because Brent met him first and decided he needed to meet me. He’s maybe the best friend I’ve got, now.”

Ryan says, quiet in the darkness, “He seems like a good guy.”

Spencer smiles, because, yeah, “He is. And a terrible boyfriend.”

He can feel Ryan’s eyes on him as Ryan says, hopefully, “Yeah?”

Spencer turns to look at Ryan, then, says, “You’re not the only one who stays friends with his exes - though bringing three of them on a first date is pretty weird.” Because, really, that’s weird even for the Ryan Spencer remembers.

Ryan sounds surprised and a little put out at the suggestion, though, says, “First? I thought we were up to three - or at least two. Z was sure that wearing my team’s colors counted as a declaration of intent.”

And Spencer laughs a little and says, “Maybe it did. I didn’t get a clue until tonight, though. Sorry for being so fucking slow.”

Ryan grins and says, “Well, they’d been hearing about you for forever, so you’re lucky I held them off this long. They would have all showed up to the second game if I hadn’t put my foot down.”

That grin is somehow what inspires Spencer to take action, say, “Will you put your foot down if I do this?” And lean in and frame Ryan’s face with his hands – and kiss him.

Ryan kisses back. Ryan kisses back and wraps his arms around Spencer and pulls him closer. And it’s fan-fucking-tastic, two weeks or more than ten years of waiting unleashed at once. Spencer is aware, dimly, that they ought to talk more than they have, but for the life of him, he can’t bring himself to care enough to actually stop. He likes the feel of Ryan’s lips sliding against his and the feel of Ryan’s hockey-muscled body beneath his hands and the feel of Ryan’s sizable erection pressing into his thigh. He’s never been particularly into having sex where anybody might come across him, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care about that just now, either. His body is alight with _Ryan, Ryan, Ryan_.

And he’s maybe become a fan of hockey again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lost/Lost/Found (The Next Ex Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227534) by [words_unravel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel)




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